


Daredevils

by kereia



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Age Difference, Angst and Feels, Banter, Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, F/M, Face-Sitting, Flirting, Kink Discovery, Leia deserves to have some fun, Light Dom/sub, Older Woman/Younger Man, Poe is more of a Switch really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-17 06:54:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14183361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kereia/pseuds/kereia
Summary: Leia is done playing it safe. After losing her son and watching Han run away from that shared loss, she buried herself with work and denied herself even the most simple pleasures. But when her shuttle is attacked on her way to Coruscant, she meets a young pilot who makes her laugh – who makes her feel deliciously, breathlessly reckless – and she is not going to ignore the way he makes herwant.





	Daredevils

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thinlizzy2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinlizzy2/gifts).



> Many thanks to thinkatory for the beta and all her suggestions.

 

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. I would like to take this opportunity to apologize for the slight detour and turbulence. Unfortunately, it is one of the drawbacks of being ambushed. Please remain in your seats while I do my best to evade cannon fire, and I promise you, we'll be back en route to Coruscant as soon as we make it out of this asteroid field.”

Leia rolls her eyes as another blast rocks the ship. _Flyboys._

“An asteroid field?” Senator Bevicard cries out. He shoots to his feet and lurches towards the cockpit. “That's madness. He will get us all killed.”

If life has taught Senator Leia Organa one thing, it is that no matter how far you plan ahead, no matter how many contingencies you take into account, somewhere, _someone_ will always find a way to throw a wrench in the works.

There have been rumors of attacks on mining colonies in the Outer Rim and reports of supply shipments going missing, but for all the intelligence they've gathered, the First Order has carefully avoided being directly linked to any of them. However, there is no doubt in Leia's mind that they are no longer merely a loose association of grizzled men with a nostalgic fascination for the old Empire, but an organization that has become a credible threat.

Unfortunately, many of her fellow senators think differently. It is the main reason she urged the Senate to call for an emergency session.

Even still, the idea that the First Order has grown bold enough to attack an ambassadorial shuttle on its way to Coruscant, is something she did not expect.

“Will you get us out of here at once,” Senator Bevicard shouts above the engine's roar. “You cannot navigate this rust bucket through an asteroid field. This is not an X-wing.”

“Rust bucket?” the pilot shoots back in a deeply offended tone of voice. “Now senator, we do not disrespect a lady like that. She may not have her first coat of paint anymore, but she's an experienced bird. She'll get us through this well enough.”

“Can't you just go to lightspeed? They can't track us there, can they?”

“With all due respect, Senator –” Leia grins at the 'fuck you' in the pilot's voice – “please don't tell me how to do my job. I wouldn't dream of telling you how to do yours.”

Enemy fire hits their shields, drowning out Bevicard's reply, but his tone carries all the way back to the passenger hold. Leia sighs and decides to intervene, before there's bloodshed.

Entering the cockpit, she ignores the continued bickering and takes a moment to asses the situation. Once upon a time, the break-neck speed with which they careen through the asteroid field would have made her stomach turn, but those days are long behind her. Instead, she purses her lips in silent respect for their pilot's skill.

Listening to the argument going on in front of her makes said pilot rise another notch in her esteem.

“Why can't you just shake them off?” Bevicard shouts as the ship jerks beneath the onslaught of another salvo. There is a definite note of panic in his voice.

Leia gently, but firmly pushes him aside to get a better look at the flight instruments and navigational readouts. Apparently, their own cannoneer has taken out all but two of the pursuing vessels, but those that remain are small with a high maneuverability, if the way they're weaving through the asteroids behind them is any indication.

Bevicard stares at Leia's hand on his chest as if it's the appendage of a Rathar. “Oh. Senator,” he says as if only now realizing that she's there. “I think it would be best if you returned to your seat.”

Leia quirks an eyebrow at him. “But I would so like to see who comes out the winner in this dick-measuring contest,” she says with a straight face, ignoring the pilot's startled laugh. The rising color in Bevicard's cheeks is far more entertaining. “Would you like me to help you out with a measuring stick?” she asks sweetly.

Bevicard sputters something unintelligible.

“That will not be necessary, ma'am,” the pilot says with a smile in his voice. His attention is focused on the view screen and his instruments. “We're almost through. Just trying to shake those last two bandits.”

“Shake them faster, Lieutenant Dameron.” Bevicard mutters, right before he's thrown into the wall as the shuttle banks in order to avoid a cluster of fractured rocks ahead of them. Leia sees the obstacle on the radar screen and braces herself against the empty co-pilot's chair.

“Working on it,” comes the clipped reply.

“May I make a suggestion, Lieutenant?” Leia asks.

Another laugh, this one colored heavily with I-cannot-believe-you-people undertones. “Sure,” he says airily. “By all means. Don't let me stop you.”

Leia smiles, unconcerned. She knows how to handle flyboys. She has a lifetime of experience.

Bevicard scoffs. “Senator Organa, I really think this is...”

“Senator _Organa_?” Dameron's head snaps around. Warm, dark eyes meet hers, and Leia feels a long-forgotten flutter in her stomach. _Damn. Flyboy, indeed_ , she thinks wryly.

“Lieutenant.” She nods in acknowledgment, at once amused and gratified that her name still makes an impression. “May I suggest you slow down and let them get a little bit closer.”

Bevicard looks at her as if she lost her mind. He tries to usher her into the hallway. “Yes, well. As much as we appreciate your input...”

“Hold on,” Dameron interrupts him, pointedly ignoring Bevicard's 'we.' His gaze darts back and forth between them and his dashboard. “Why should I let them get closer?”

Leia casually side-steps the other senator, then pretends to accidentally hip-check him into the wall again. _Middle of a fire fight. Lost my footing. Not quite as spry as I used to be. So very sorry._

“There's a small planet right on the edge of this asteroid field,” Leia points out with a nod towards the radar screen.

“Yes?”

“Well, Lieutenant. Have you ever bounced off a planet's atmosphere before?” The corners of her mouth quirk up. “I am told that there's nothing quite like it.”

She's a little taken aback by the innuendo seeping into her voice, but it's too late to do anything about it.

Bevicard looks utterly scandalized (“Senator! Really.”), and even Dameron blinks at her in shock.

Then his mind visibly switches gears, and he grins at her in that familiar, cocksure way that reminds her too much of Han and has her heart hammering inside her chest. _Oh, that explains it,_ she thinks _._

Well then, if there was more insinuation in her voice than was strictly appropriate, she can always blame it on the adrenaline.

Meanwhile, Dameron's expression alights with pure, adventurous glee as he changes course and throttles the engines. “Let's find out,” he says, his tone deceptively professional, whereas the look in his eyes is decidedly not.

They head for the planet, disguising their maneuver as an attempt to break atmo, then level off at the last second, skimming along the thermosphere. Their engines groan, their shields light up, and as the two attack vessels behind them burn out in the planet's atmosphere, Dameron turns to her, a look of awe in his eyes.

Then he winks, and Leia feels a sharp, delicious tug inside her abdomen.

 _Well,_ she thinks to herself. _This visit to Coruscant might just turn out to be a lot less frustrating than I thought it would be._

  
  


* * *

  
  


It takes her less than a day to stop comparing him to Han, because if there is one thing Leia has learned in the past few years – ruthlessly examining all her shortcoming and failures – it is self-awareness, and the only reason she's been comparing Dameron to her estranged husband is that she's looking for an excuse not to see him again.

There are few ways more effective to douse a flame than by drowning it in a self-imposed guilt-trip, and subjecting her motives to an endless mantra of _you're only attracted to him because he reminds you of Han_ certainly does the trick.

Objectively, they don't even have that much in common. They might show the same brash courage, the same disregard for convention and authority, but there the similarities end. When Leia thinks of Han, she fondly remembers his gruffness; the grouchy, grumpy cynicism he wore as a shield to hide the softness underneath. Even in their short acquaintance, Dameron strikes her as an altogether happier and more easy-going person by comparison; someone who is comfortable in his own skin.

Thus silencing the insidious voice in the back of her head, she is determined to enjoy Dameron's company when they run into each other again two days later.

They're at a senate reception, and she suspects that the only reason he is here is that the Supreme Chancellor insisted on giving him a commendation for his conduct under fire. He looks slightly bemused, with a hint of boredom in his eyes as people congratulate him. The expression on his face conveys all too clearly that he feels out of place among the throng and bustle of a political gathering, but all that seems to vanish when his gaze finds her.

“Senator Organa,” he greets her, voice smooth and low, and even though Leia has plenty of experience with being in the public eye, it isn't until she finds herself the sole focus of his regard that she realizes how long it's been since she had someone's undivided attention.

She sips her champagne and angles her body towards him, away from the rest of the crowd.

“Lieutenant.”

He falls into step next to her, and they make their way towards the balcony that stretches all the way around the skyscraper containing the reception hall. Said balcony not only affords them the most breathtaking view of the city planet, but also allows access to the vast rooftop gardens on the platforms below, and after three hours of standing around, chatting with allies and detractors alike, Leia is more than eager to stretch her legs.

“You seem a little ill at ease outside your natural habitat,” she notes, gently.

His smirk is rueful. “It's not really my crowd, no. Though I have to admit, present company makes up for the past three hours.”

She laughs and loops her hand around his arm. “Oh, excellent. I had a feeling you were a charmer. Mind keeping me company for the remainder of this stilted affair?”

This seems to break the ice between them. She feels a pleasant flutter in her stomach at the way his expression lights up.

“You're selling yourself short, ma'am. From what I hear, you've turned charm into a formidable weapon in its own right.”

Leia's expression turns wry. “Is that what they say about me?”

His eyes soften. “Your reputation certainly precedes you.”

There is something honest and open in his face that speaks of respect and appreciation, and because of all this, she feels comfortable enough to tease him. Leaning in, she lowers her voice, so no one will overhear. “I see,” she says with a twinkle in her eyes. “How small?”

He tilts his head with a curious look on his face, but to her delight, she sees the shift behind his eyes, the way his cheeks color as he catches on to her meaning.

Still, he makes a valiant effort at nonchalance. “I'm not sure what you mean, ma'am?” he says.

She laughs softly. “The famed gold bikini, of course. How tiny did you hear it was?”

A sound escapes his lips, a choking sort of laugh, and the tips of his ears turn a charming shade of red as he runs a hand through his curly hair.

“Come now, lieutenant,” she cajoles, her heart far lighter than it's been in years. It feels good to flirt, to defy the restrictions of the role she took upon herself, and she regrets not stepping beyond those boundaries before. “I've heard it get smaller with every retelling. After thirty years, I'm frankly surprised no one has envisioned me naked, yet, while Jabba the Hutt kept me in chains.”

His eyes widen at her words, but there is starlight in his gaze, and she just _knows_. It makes her laugh out loud, and the sound carries far enough to turn heads. Leia doesn't care.

“Oh, I see. That version does exist.” She drains half her glass, feeling the heat in her own cheeks now, but it is not due to embarrassment. Not precisely. Rather, a warm sense of light-headedness steals over her as she watches his face, reads every tick and twitch of his expression and comes away with a story of admiration, of wonder, of _desire_ that simply steals her breath away.

For a moment, she basks in his appreciation and wraps it around her like a warm cloak on a winter's day, but old habits are hard to break, and Leia has never been good at living in the moment.

Since her childhood and the rise of the empire, she always had to look ahead, while keeping a wary eye on the past. Cause and effect, action and consequence. Too many details, too many variables, and the ever-shifting battlefield upon which words can inflict deeper and more lasting wounds than pulse canons and saber swords.

There's a reason that she suddenly feels self-conscious, and it has everything to do with family secrets, regrets, and tragedies, and revolves entirely around her being a woman who's defined herself too long by everything she's lost – who denied herself even the most basic human connection and pleasure in an attempt at penance that is as futile as it is egregious.

Her smile turns wistful. “Perhaps a wise choice not to have it reach my ears.”

It startles her, how quickly he picks up on her altered mood, and she feels a surge of affection towards him when he tries to dispel the shadows lurking in her head.

“You strangled him with that same chain, ma'am. It was... impressive.” He tips his head and salutes her with his glass. “I'm sure that's what people remember most.”

Stepping closer, he rests his hand against her elbow. His thumb brushes along her skin, and he looks at her with so much heat that she can feel it burn away her melancholy – like an open flame that licks at dried out kindling.

She lifts her chin, until she can feel his breath against her cheek, and meets his gaze in silent invitation. “No, they don't,” she says softly. “But I appreciate you saying so.”

Silence settles between them – charged and heavy – and his eyes grow stormy. He swallows as his gaze darts to her mouth, but he won't kiss her – not here – even if she believes that he would like to. They've left the ballroom behind in favor of the cooler air on the balcony, but there are still too many people around for them to commit such an indiscretion.

He straightens and offers her his arm. Casual. Confident. There's a humming tension in his shoulders, though, that she can feel through his sleeve when she allows him to guide her down the steps into the gardens.

He clears his throat as they skirt around a group of diplomats.

“So, do you still have it?” he asks, his tone caught half-way between curiosity and provocation.

She looks at him with her best imitation of wide-eyed innocence. “The chain, you mean?”

He shakes his head, a smirk tugging at his lips, but just then they pass another cluster of politicians, and Dameron suddenly seems hesitant as the group falls silent, and he and Leia find themselves the subject of their attention.

Leia stiffens beside him as she recognizes a few prominent Centrists and the uncomfortable looking Populists among them that they're trying to sway, and she cajoles him down another path lined with rotulu hedges.

He looks at her curiously, but one look at her face is apparently enough to dissuade him from asking questions. “Ah, yes... The chain,” he picks up the thread of their conversation.

“Of course, I do.” she says firmly, thinking of the chain she keeps locked away in her study, next to holopads full of family snapshots that she can't bring herself to look at anymore. “I keep it as a reminder, that no matter how dark things get, I will always find my way back into the light. On my own, if necessary.” She straightens her shoulders, banishing memories too dark to pit against the sunset on Coruscant. She won't allow them to affect her today.

  
  


* * *

  
  


What it comes down to is this: Life is too short.

Take pleasure where you find it. Enjoy companionship when it crosses your path. Cherish it, nurture it, hold on to it when you can. Never stifle your laugh. Don't be ashamed of your tears.

These are the things she did not appreciate when she was twenty, when her head was full of responsibilities, her heart consumed by a sense of duty too rigorous to allow her to breathe, to allow her to see what really mattered.

She's older now, and she hopes, wiser.

That's why she pulls him into an alcove behind a wodobo bush when they're finally alone in a secluded corner of the garden, far away from prying eyes and the voices of her fellows. Her hands splay across Dameron's broad back, and she grinds herself against the thigh he pushes between her legs.

His mouth is soft and warm as he marks a wet path up her neck and sucks on the tender skin just behind her ear.

Leia shivers deliciously.

“Earlier,” he whispers, voice unsteady enough to make her toes curl with delight, “I wasn't asking about the chain.”

She leans her head back against the wall and looks at him with hooded eyes. “I know.”

“So... do you still have the bikini?”

“Why?” she teases. “Would you like to borrow it?”

He nips playfully at her collarbone. “I would like to pay my respects, if you will allow me the honor.”

Everything inside her goes taut and expectant at the promise in his eyes. It's been too long. There have been too many missed opportunities, too many nights when she curled up seeking relief with her hand between her thighs, too many nights when she denied herself even that much.

For a moment, she hesitates, torn between what she wants and all the reasons she shouldn't have it, doesn't deserve it. It's that last thought that brings her up short, that makes her downright angry.

 _How long_ , she thinks sharply, _how long will you punish yourself? When will it be enough?_

 _Never_ , she admits with sudden honesty, and that's when everything changes.

Life is too short.

You _will_ make mistakes. They're unavoidable. Don't forget them. Try not to repeat them.

But do not let them define you. Most of them do not warrant a lifetime of self-flagellation.

She takes a deep breath, exhales slowly, and makes a decision.

She deserves to want this. This man. This night.

She won't let the past ruin her future anymore.

Dameron is nothing if not perceptive, and while she is busy balancing on the mental edge of a knife blade, he steps back, giving her space, even as his thumbs rubs soothingly against her hips. There's a question in his eyes, a hesitant deference, as if he wonders whether or not he crossed a line.

She tilts her head and curls her hands around the lapels of his jacket, pulling him decisively back against her. A slow, wicked smile curves around her lips, and his eyes go wide and dark and hungry.

“How would you pay your respects, lieutenant?” she asks huskily as his weight falls against her, pressing her into the wall.

His mouths hover above hers. “Any way you want me to, ma'am.” His hands tighten around her waist, and she can feel his cock harden against her stomach. The sensation floods her with heat and an aching need that will not be denied.

Licking her lips, Leia casts her dice and goes for broke.

“Well, it's been a while since someone bent me over a table and fucked me properly.”

This startles a laugh out of him. “Maker, you are not what I expected.”

She cocks an eyebrow, challenging him with a wolfish grin. “Pray tell, what _did_ you expect?” She gently bites down on the lobe of his ear until she hears him catch his breath. “Someone staid? Settled? Self-composed?” She punctuates every question with a sharp nip along the tendon on the side of his neck. His hips jerk against her, and his hands dig into her ass, pulling her hard into his thrust.

Leia laughs. “Do you think gaining maturity means forgetting how to have fun?”

He captures her mouth in a searing kiss. “I hope not,” he says, when they come up for air. “I'd hate having to cut myself off like that.”

His smile is balanced on just the right side of tender and naughty to make it easy for Leia to dismiss the wistful feeling his words evoke.

Instead, she untangles herself from his embrace and squeezes his hand as she brings her lips close to his ear.

“Wait a few minutes, then meet me in my quarters,” she says huskily, a heady rush of anticipation racing through her veins.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Leia loves her body.

For most of her life, it was an afterthought, this form of flesh and bones — a useful tool to carry her from starship to rebellion base, from battlefield to Senate floor. It wasn't until she grew older that she learned to appreciate how it allows her to savor the sweetness off Quinberry cake and compensates for the recoil of a blaster rifle, how it warmed beneath the touch of her husband and carried and nurtured their son.

There's no denying that it served her well throughout the years, and has more than earned her gratitude and care.

As she slips the crossing straps of the bikini top over her shoulders, she traces her scars, trails her fingertips along stretch marks and wrinkles — the history that time etched with loving detail into her skin – a tapestry of love and loss and victory that speaks of a life lived well, home to a soul more incandescent than the brightest star.

Caressing her body, Leia is amused at the blush that steels over her skin when she thinks of the desire in Dameron's eyes.

She draws a simple peach-colored cloak around her shoulders and walks over to the mirrored panorama windows of her apartment. The Coruscant skyline stretches before her as her toes sink into the rich, thick carpet. The sensation is a pleasant companion to the expectant tension that curls inside her stomach and a counterpoint to the electric current that shivers down her spine.

Dameron doesn't make her wait long. He appears in front of her doors, without his jacket, a bottle of Corellian wine in his hands, his rolled up sleeves accentuating both the broad line of his shoulders and the sleek muscles of his forearms.

His smile is gentle. “May I come in?”

Her answer is to bury her hands in his hair and kiss him until they're both breathless and panting, hearts racing like wild things inside their chests. She revels in the heat of his gaze, playfully snatches the bottle from his hand, and beckons him to follow her.

A look at the label has her smiling with appreciation. "This is my favorite," she says, a note of suspicion beneath the surprise.

"Is it?" he asks, far too innocently.

Leia laughs, picks up two glasses from a sideboard, and heads into her bedroom. "Very smooth, lieutenant. It seems I was right about you."

He comes up behind her, hands slipping around her waist. His mouth descends to the curve of her shoulder, and Leia's eyelids flutter as she leans back into him.

“Were you?” he asks with quiet amusement.

She throws the bottle and glasses haphazardly onto a settee and covers his hands with her own, guiding them between the fold of her cloak. He presses up behind her with a small moan as his fingers find the bare skin of her stomach, and the sound shivers along her neck and makes her so very wet that the soaked fabric of her bikini bottoms rubs deliciously against her cunt every time she moves her thighs.

"Yes,” she whispers breathlessly. “You're a charmer through and through."

She can feel him shrug behind her. "I didn't do it to be charming. Just wanted you to have something that you like."

Suddenly flustered, Leia presses her lips into a rueful smile. It takes her a second to adjust, to pull herself away from the expectation of suave mannerisms and hidden agendas on the political floor, to the reality of being in the arms of a man who does not live and breathe deceit, who didn't come to her with anything but an open smile and an honest desire to share his time and his body with her.

Sometimes a bottle of wine is just a bottle of wine.

Though he hasn't stopped the slow exploration of her body, she slips her fingers between his in silent apology. "Thank you."

He makes a humming sound against her neck, and one of his hands lazily cups her breast, while the other ghosts along her skin to the clasp of her cloak. The material falls off her shoulders and sinks to the floor, and suddenly Leia can feel the heat of his body as he realigns himself against her back, and she almost wants to purr. His thumbs brush along the edge of the copper brasserie, when he abruptly stops and leans over her shoulder to get a better look.

“This thing cannot be comfortable,” he says with a frown, and he sounds so disappointed – as if the irritation she might experience while wearing it completely ruins his fantasy – that it makes her laugh.

“It was not designed for comfort, lieutenant.”

He looks at her and blushes, his thoughts written eloquently across his face. The sharp reminder that unlike it is tonight, it was not her choice to wear it back then hangs heavily in the air, but Leia _absolutely_ refuses to let it ruin the mood. Not only has she made her peace with this damn scrap of clothing, but she killed the crime lord who made her wear it. She is Leia, Princess of Alderaan, Leia, the Huttslayer, and she strangled him with her own leash.

“It's alright,” she says turning around and stepping close until her breath whispers along his chin. Her hand comes up to cup his cheek, thump brushing against his bottom lip.

In spite of her words, there is a look of contrition on his face. “I shouldn't have asked you to wear it.”

She makes a throwaway gesture. "If I'd had any objections, we would not be here." She presses her finger against his mouth until his lips part, and he gently sucks on the pad of her thumb. "You are, however, welcome to take it off me, lieutenant. With your teeth."

He blinks at her, body stilling as if she caught him in a Force Hold. Then his eyes go dark, and his hands plunge into her hair, fisting tightly in the strands as he slants his mouth against hers and kisses her with the desperation of a drowning man.

Heat rushes through her, suffusing her from head to toes as she sweeps her tongue into his mouth and melts against him. Her hands are not idle and make quick work of the buttons on his shirt. She pushes the fabric off his shoulders, but it catches at his rolled up sleeves, forcing his arms down to her waist, and it gives her the most _delightful_ idea.

“Don't,” she stops him when he tries to twist out of the shirt, voice a little too sharp to be entirely playful.

He freezes, his face an enticing contradiction of arousal and curiosity. She loops an arm around his waist and twists the shirt, forcing his arms behind his back. Her eyes stay on his face, gauging his reaction, but he only cocks an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Stay still,” she orders and is pleased to see his eyes crinkle at the edges as a slow, wicked smile curls around his mouth.

“Yes, _ma'am_ ,” he drawls, saturating the honorific with just the right combination of respect and lasciviousness that it ignites a fire in her abdomen that she just _knows_ will burn her to ash and cinders before morning.

Keeping her hand twisted in his shirt, she walks around him, free hand mapping his skin. There's a scar on his side, rough-edged and old, and she wonders where he got it from.

His eyes follow her, tendons straining as she presses herself against his back. From behind him, she trails her hand over the hair on his chest, fingertips teasing his nipples and scratching lightly across the quivering muscles of his stomach. Leia runs her tongue along the curve of his neck, then sinks her teeth into him. His breath catches in his throat. “Ma'am,” he breathes, voice rough and deep, and there's nothing of the earlier cockiness in the word, just a bone-deep, wanton longing that makes her knees weak.

"Are you planning to call me ma'am all night?" she whispers against his skin as her palm presses into the soft skin of his abdomen, fingertips dancing along the line of his pants, teasingly dipping below the waistband.

He lets his head fall back against her shoulder, baring his throat, and Leia can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. "Would you like me to?" he asks.

There is no hesitation in her voice when she answers, no indecision in the firm grasp of her fingers around his erection when she pushes her hand into his pants. "Yes."

There's a beat as he takes a shaking breath. He wets his lips and arches his back, his fingers tangling in the red silk of her bikini's loincloth. "Then I am yours to command, ma'am," he says, and there's a laugh hidden beneath the earnestness, a sharp reminder of his casual irreverence under fire.

It makes her appreciate the way he yields to her even more.

She lets go of him abruptly and tears the shirt down his arms.

It takes him less than a second to regain his balance, and he rounds on her, expression wild, but restrains himself with obvious effort, awaiting her directions. Only his gaze roams freely across her body, drinking her in.

Leia always considered herself to be a level-headed person; goal-oriented, focused, not given to flights of fancy or easily effected by flattery, but there is no falsehood in his appreciation, and it makes her a little light-headed, this open veneration shining in his eyes.

Struggling to keep her breath even, she straightens her shoulders and quirks an eyebrow expectantly. “With your teeth,” she reminds him, imperiously, the fondness in her eyes the only note to soften the command.

“As you wish, ma'am,” he says and sinks to his knees in front of her. His hands settle around her waist, drawing her closer. His eyes never leave her face.

A low, deep wave of heat rolls through her body at the touch of his mouth against the swell of her stomach. She inhales sharply, her hands carding through his thick curls, and she can't resist the need to shift, to rub her thighs together, the sudden need for friction making her muscles contract.

His hands trail up her calves, rubbing circles into the backs of her knees, the touch almost too light for her liking. She tugs at his hair, and he nips at her hip in retaliation. It brings a savage grin to her face. He mouths at the string holding up the bikini bottoms, tongue sliding hot and wet along the top of her thigh, before his teeth fasten around the clasp at her hip, and with a whisper of silk she stands exposed and bare, reveling in the ravenous expression on Dameron's face.

His touch against her thighs is anything but gentle and presents a stark contrast to the soft kisses he presses into her folds when she parts her legs and steadies herself with her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes fall shut, and she's very tempted to cede control, but Dameron has other plans. He lingers for a moment, tongue dancing over her clit, but she can feel his muscles bunch beneath her palms, and he rises with a fluent grace that speaks of strength and eagerness and has her reeling with the sheer desire to feel all that power beneath her.

Nimble fingers divest her of her top, and she has two seconds to be disappointed that he ignored her order to use his mouth, but instead of letting the brasserie drop to the ground, he gives her the most rakish grin this side of the galaxy and slips into the straps.

The bikini settles awkwardly around his compact frame, the cups too close together to cover his nipples, and the strings cutting into his sides. It looks ridiculous; a picture compounded by the pleased expression on his face, and Leia bites her lip to keep from laughing.

He winks at her. “I think it brings out the color of my eyes.”

The sound bursting from her startles her with its ferocity, a wild, loud laugh that throws her head back and has her shoulders shaking. He's not wrong either, and that just makes her laugh harder.

She can't remember the last time she actually felt the easy confidence with which she pushes him onto her bed and straddles him, but she won't dwell on it tonight, not when he lies stretched out and waiting beneath her, his hands reaching for her eagerly, eyes bright with mirth and lust and unaffected adoration.

She's still laughing when he lifts his shoulders – stomach muscles taut beneath her hands – grasps the back of her thighs and simply _hoist her_ up and forward until her cunt is level with his mouth and _stars_ , it pushes all the air out of her lungs as her hands scramble for purchase on the headboard.

She finds her balance when his tongue slides over her, and her teeth sink into her bottom lip when his mouth closes over her clitoris, sucking gently with a wet and sloppy sound, that makes her toes curl with the shameless pleasure racing through her body.

It's hard not to grind down as he teases her, tongue lapping at her wetness, his lewd moans reverberating through every fiber of her being.

“Fuck,” she curses when he manages to work two fingers into her, in spite of the awkward angle at which he has to twist his wrist. She's not usually one to lose control this fast, but, damn it, the man has _talent_ , and with her thighs shaking, she grounds herself with one hand in his hair, while she maintains a death grip on the curved metal bar in front of her.

Dameron takes her outburst as encouragement, and turns his head to nip at the delicate skin on the inside of her thigh. Then he drags his tongue roughly against the bottom of her clit. His fingers twist inside her, and Leia is done for. She trembles, muscles seizing rapturously, and a soundless scream tears out of her lungs as she all but collapses on top of him.

She lets herself fall to the side so as not to smother him. Her breath is labored, her body boneless and sated, and it takes her a moment before she can open her eyes.

Head propped up on his hand, he reclines against the pillow, his body turned towards her, his expression an alluring blend of smug and soft.

She grins at him. “Not bad, lieutenant.”

His laugh fills her bedroom, and it strikes her how right it sounds echoing through the open space.

“Not bad?” he grouses, fire in his eyes. “Oh, I see. I'll have to up my game.” Leaning closer, he tugs his mouth beneath her chin and presses his lips to the pulse beating at her neck. “I am going to spoil you rotten, ma'am.”

There's a growl in his voice that thunders in her ears, and though her aftershocks should be abating, something inside her coils around itself in an ever tightening knot that settles low between her legs and leaves her aching.

“You can try,” she challenges him cheekily, hand tugging at the bikini he still wears before she lets it snap back against his skin. “I believe I asked to be bent over a table,” she continues and indicates her desk by the windows. “That one over there will do.”

When he rolls her first on top of him, then off the bed, catching himself on his feet as her legs wind around his waist in what Leia secretly admires as an impressive show of strength and coordination, it crosses her mind that her teasing may have hurt his pride a little bit.

However, that worry quickly dissipates when he lowers her onto the edge of her desk and nestles his hips between her legs. The look in his eyes is one of affection, and he seems quite content to simply stand there and kiss her until she's breathless and dizzy with nothing but his taste in her mouth and the warmth of his body pressed against her skin.

His hands knead and tease her breasts until they're impossibly tender, and just when she thinks that she might be able to come from that stimulation alone, he shudders and steps back after she all but tears his fly open and pushes his pants down, not at all surprised that he goes commando underneath.

“Hold on” he says voice not entirely steady, and he fishes a small, flat bottle of lube out of his pocket.

Leia smirks up at him. “You came prepared.” She probably doesn't need it at this point, but she appreciates his care. “May I?” she asks and holds out her hand.

It's a rush, watching his face as she coats his cock with the clear gel, and she's not above indulging in a little subtle torture when she takes her time, working her hand over every inch of his hard length until he's panting and trembling, eyes boring into hers. He knows exactly what she's doing, but he doesn't stop her, just tries to hold on, fingers digging into her thighs as his eyelashes flutter, and he bites his bottom lip bloody.

Leia has never seen anything as hot as this.

When she finally shows mercy and turns her attention to her own body, he stops her after a moment, his large hands encircling her wrists.

“Turn around,” he says, in a voice that's utterly wrecked _._

 _Fuck,_ she thinks, and her abdominal walls contract almost painfully with desire.

She's not even fully turned when he aligns himself and sinks into her with one smooth, deep stroke that has her gasping with the stretch. It feels incredible to have him move inside her, and she's neither surprised nor ashamed of the mewling, needy sounds he draws from her body with a startling ease.

She plants her palms against the smooth surface beneath her and pushes back into his thrusts, arching her back to take him deeper. He groans behind her as he bottoms out. One of his hand digs into her hip while the other glides around it so he can strum at her clit, but it doesn't take her long to realize that she's too sensitive to enjoy the touch, and as much as she wants to, as aroused as she is, orgasms are beyond her, right now.

“Go ahead,” she encourages him breathlessly, knowing that he must be close. “It's okay. I can't come again this soon.”

He stills inside her, breath harsh and erratic. “We can take our time,” he offers, but Leia will have none of it.

She turns her head to glare at him over her shoulder. “That's an order, lieutenant,” she snaps, steel in her voice, and she's awed how he responds seemingly without conscious thought, pupils blown wide, cock pulsing inside her.

Thrilled by his reaction, she pushes further. “Finish up, because I swear I'll spank that gorgeous ass of yours if you don't.”

A violent shudders runs through his entire body. “Fuck,” he curses, and then repeats the word a dozen times over as he surges into her, expression a little wild, a little out of control.

Leia bites back a laugh and desperately struggles to keep her voice level. “Would you like that?” she asks, suddenly intrigued by the idea.

His hands grip her so tightly that they will leave bruises on her skin. “I never thought about it, until now,” he pants, “but I'd let you... kriff, I'd definitely let you, ma'am.”

Suddenly, he lets go of her hips and lunges forward to grasp the edge of the desk by Leia's shoulders. He plunges into her hard and fast and relentlessly, and Leia gives up trying to meet his thrusts. Instead, she thinks of Poe, bent over her knees, round, firm bottom supple beneath her palm and is surprised when pure, liquid lightning cascades down her back, a climax not entirely out of reach anymore.

“Yes,” she moans, “I'd spank you until you're nicely red and plump, too sore to sit down for the rest of the day.”

“Fuck. Oh, fuck. Yes.”

“And you'd beg me not to stop, lieutenant,” she continues, breath labored and short as she gives herself over to the fantasy. Her whole body seems to be on fire.

“No, ma'am. I wouldn't want you to. I wouldn't...” His breath stutters, and he gasps, body going stiff and hard as he buries himself as deeply inside her as he can.

“Maker,” he whispers, forehead resting between her shoulder blades. He is trembling above her as he spends himself, and it takes him a while to let go of the desk. His knuckles are white, and he has to flex his fingers before he can place his palms beside her shoulders and lever his torso off her.

Leia is too delighted by his responsiveness – in the way her words made him unravel – to be disappointed at missing out on another orgasm. Instead, she feels quite pleasantly buzzed, and relishes the sensation as she tries to get her breathing back under control.

Dameron presses a kiss to her shoulder. “Are you alright?” he asks, voice still uneven.

Her attempt to answer is supplanted by a moan when he pulls out of her. “Kriff,” she huffs, suddenly feeling the soreness in her thighs. She shifts restlessly, her arousal not yet fully dissipated, but she can't bring herself to stand up.

As his hands skim languidly along her sides, Dameron leans down to her ear. “You're a little out of breath there, ma'am,” he says dryly. “Are you sure that I can't make you come again?”

The sound that tears itself from her throat is half laugh, half moan, and all disbelief at his tenacity. “You might just be able to,” she admits. “The idea of spanking you did some interesting things to my brain.”

He helps her sit up and turn around. His hands are gentle. To her surprise, he leans his forehead against hers once they're face to face. Taking a deep breath, she leans into him and closes her eyes, letting herself enjoy the unexpected peacefulness of the moment.

"I quite like the way your brain works," he says with a studied casualness that that makes her search his gaze.

His thumb brushes idle circles into the side of her knee.

She nods, curious where this conversation will go. "I think I'm gaining a new appreciation for it, too," she says with a crooked smile.

"Want to find out if we can deepen that appreciation while you're staying here?"

Leia doesn't have to think about it. Not this time. She's done playing it safe, and her smile is as wide as his when she realizes that she's willing to dive in and dive in deep – to dream, to live, to dare.

 

 


End file.
